The Devil's going to set me free
by omentastic
Summary: Set after the BBC version ended. Philip Lombard survives Soldier Island and goes to New York after WWII. He returns to the mercenary life working for notorious mobster Frank Lava. He meets Katherine Lockwood who has her own secrets but skills that match his own. He had thought Death was for other people...but She comes in many guises and not always unwelcome.
1. Chapter 1

**I watched this at Christmas and loved it but then it got lost in my love of The Walking Dead and Game of Thrones and my other 101 obsessions. I watched it again at the weekend and rekindled "things". Please forgive any anachronisms or poor research. Any comments are always welcome and thank you for reading.**

She was all sharp edges, a lethal mind, a feral temper. Oh yes, she was dangerous…and he liked danger. She turned to him as the flames took hold and he fell even further.

"If you try and cheat me I will skin you and roll you in salt." she hissed at the flabby, sweaty gunrunner.

"I'm not trying to cheat you lady and you need to learn your goddamn place…" he cut himself off as he screamed. She leant forward, applying a little more pressure on the knife slid through the sensitive thumb and forefinger skin of the man's right hand. Philip Lombard, leaning against the bar and hidden in the shadows, hadn't even seen her move.

"Give me what you owe me," she whispered and gave a small and satisfied smile as he desperately waved to one of the lackeys who handed her an envelope fat with notes. She pulled out the knife and wiped it on the grimacing man's sleeve and walked out of the bar without a backwards glance.

"You let that bitch slice me, aren't you meant to be my protector?" a bead of sweat from the man landed on Philip's cheek.

"I'm really not." he said quietly.

"Then what the fuck am I paying you for?" the man's face got even redder he noted.

"The job, which I completed and now I'm leaving." and he headed out the way she had gone, barely hearing the man's screams and threats. He stopped under the streetlight and lit a cigarette.

She threw the envelope onto the scarred tabletop and kicked off her shoes.

'Put that with the rest." she said to Miriam who placed it in the wall safe.

How much do we have now?" she asked.

"Nearly a hundred and fifty thousand" said the small woman, looking at her over half moon glasses.

"Not enough." replied Katherine Lockwood, Kit to most.

"No." Miriam replied flatly.

"Any more jobs lined up?" Kit asked.

"Mr. Lava's goons called again, he's upped his price."

"Don't call that rat bastard Mr, he's not a Mr." Kit snapped, "How much is he offering now?"

"Ten thousand." Miriam continued to watch her wrestle with this information.

"Ten thousand and he's still calling it an easy job? Nobody offers ten thousand for an easy job." lighting the cigarette, Kit inhaled deeply.

"It'd bring us closer to the total…and you could get some payback from last time." Miriam said mildly.

"Fuck it, let him know I'll see him tomorrow." Kit poured a healthy measure of whiskey into the glass and blew out the smoke, "Here!" she added, "he can come to me." Miriam made the call.

"I've heard nothing but good things about you Mr Lombard"

Philip looked at the man sat opposite him, across a huge leather topped desk. The slicked back hair carefully parted in the middle, the clean-shaven jaw, the shark eyes watching every move he made.

"You come highly recommended. You are known as a man who can get things done."

"For the right price." Philip answered and watched the man smile but it never reached his eyes.

"Anything can be made to happen for the right price. So what is your price?" and the two men got down to business.

"You'll be working with another on this, it's a two man job." Frank Lava poured another measure of brandy.

"No. I work alone." Philip replied quickly.

"For the money I'm paying you, I get to tell you how this will happen." and Philip nodded slightly; how could he argue, the money he was getting was obscene and he could always ensure his partner met with an accident.

"Be at this address at 7 o'clock tomorrow evening." Lava swallowed the brandy, throwing a slip of paper at Philip Lombard and returned to the paperwork on his desk…the meeting was over.

Philip lay on the sagging bed in the run down fleapit he was staying in, better for anonymity. He disliked men such as Lava but saw them as a necessity. In his line of work there were no saints…only sinners. He knew a rabid dog when he saw one and Lava was about as rabid as they come.

"You nervous?" Miriam asked as Kit checked the magazine for the Browning High-Power lying on the table.

"No." she replied shortly, Miriam blinked at her but said nothing.

"I want you out of the way tonight, you are to stay upstairs." she added and stared until the smaller woman nodded. Kit slid the magazine home and placed the gun in the hand made holster on the underside of the table.

Philip lit another cigarette and checked the street sign. He walked past the kosher butchers, a liquor store, a tenement building, a laundry and finally arrived at Mike's Tattoos. He pushed open the door and a topless, leathery old man covered in faded blue ink looked up from the sailor's arm, needle poised over a half finished knife stabbing through a bleeding rose and a cigarette dangling from his lips. Philip presumed this was the titular Mike who looked him up and down through the smoke.

"You'll be wanting Kit, go through to the back and up the stairs." he growled and returned to the ink.

Philip Lombard, soldier of fortune, gun for hire, mercenary, murderer, survivor, opened the peeling wooden door and saw Kit Lockwood for the second time.

She looked at the man standing in front of her. Dangerously beautiful and beautifully dangerous. Dark hair, dark eyes, dark spirit like the most potent whiskey, tall, muscled but not overly, in a perfectly tailored navy blue suit, crisp white shirt, blood red tie, powerful, assured, clever… a predator. She did not react.

"Can I offer you a drink? I have rum, Irish whiskey, vodka?" she asked without introducing herself, they were not here to socialise.

"Whiskey please." he answered and followed her into the room. She placed three glasses on the table and indicated for him to sit. She poured whiskey into two of the glasses and vodka into the third. She sat opposite him and lit a cigarette.

Philip watched the woman as she poured the drinks. She moved with grace, in another situation he would have guessed she was well bred. Her black blouse and wide leg trousers did nothing to hide her hourglass figure that had become rather unfashionable in recent times, something he could not understand. She was about his age and none of the hardness of their lives had marked her face. Her hair, a deep red, natural, no dye could achieve that richness, wavy, was loosely pulled back from a wide and clear face; full lips and large, dark eyes completed the look of a very attractive woman. But Philip was a man who looked beyond the surface, underneath was the dangerous woman he had observed before. She exuded a confidence rarely seen in women of any kind; she stalked through life like the tigers he had come across in India. She was as dangerous as any man but she wasn't infected like men such as Lava. There was something else but he couldn't quite see it yet…but he would. He took a swallow of whiskey and felt the delicious burn as it went down.

"So, an Irish mercenary." Kit thought, "a dangerous man but nothing more than that. Easily dealt with."

The door opened for a second time and Frank Lava came in, escorted by two of his minions; a giant who went by the name of Lance and a small bald ferret faced bastard called Mickey the Slit because of his penchant for slitting open his victim's abdomen before strangling them.

"Mr Lombard I see you have met the fragrant Miss Lockwood." Lava's dead shark eyes roamed over Kit.

"Kit, this is Mr Lombard, you will be working with him. Kit is all the way from England; I hope that won't cause you difficulty Mr Lombard. I know you people have had your fair share of problems with the Limeys." Frank watched Philip's face for any sign of weakness but he was too good for that.

"No difficulty." he replied.

"Good, that's good. Is this vodka Kit?" and she nodded watching him drink, "this is decent Kit." He put an emphasis on her name that made her fingers itch but she supressed the desire to rip his throat out. "Did you get it from one of your Pollack friends? Kit is everyone's friend; Jewish, coloured, Pollack, Russian, anyone and everyone…except me." Lava watched for Kit's reaction but her face remained still.

"Well it seems the small talk is over. Let's get down to business. I need you to find out how that damn wop Giametti is getting his merchandise by my men. I've got men in the ILA, I own the police, I've got more men and they're better armed but every fucking month he gets his shit through and I wanna know how. When I know how that little bastard is doing it I'm gonna kill every last man in his two bit operation and then I'm gonna kill their families and their friends, burn down that fancy house of his…"

Philip watched Kit as Lava was ranting and saw that she didn't flinch at the foul language or the violent sentiment. He thought back to some of the women he had known in England who would at least have gasped, with her there was nothing.

"…neither of you are known to the Giamettis which is why I'm paying you a shit of money. I need it done quickly." Lava finished and sat back.

Philip nodded and Kit remained silent.

"Good." said Lava and clapped his hands together, "Here is half the money and you get the second half when the job is done" he put two envelopes on the table but Kit and Philip left them there, "now I have to see a whore about a fuck, I fancy a redhead tonight. I'll leave you two kids to it. Lombard, walk me out. Kit, it's been a pleasure as always." Mickey the Slit gave a girlish giggle and they headed towards the door. When they were outside, Lava gripped Philip's arm tightly and leaned into him.

"You wanna watch that hellcat in there, she ain't just a pretty face. You see Mickey here? Well he's missing a nut because of her." and Mickey smiled and nodded, "he's just biding his time until he gets some payback, ain't you Mickey?" again the small man nodded vigorously.

Philip Lombard, who had learned self-control very early on and had learned it well, had to fight the urge to recoil from Lava. He watched the man walk down the dim corridor to the stairs and itched to kill him.

Kit was pouring them both another drink and didn't look up as he came back in. He sat down, reached for his drink and Kit sat opposite him.

"Mr Lombard, how about you tell me who you are?" and Philip looked up to see Kit pointing a High-Power Browning right between his eyes.

"I'm a man who is being paid to do a job." he said calmly; he noticed her hand wasn't shaking, her gaze was steady.

"You were in the bar when I was negotiating with that fat bastard Colley, you work for gun runners, gangsters, you've spent time in Africa or India I would say, you fought in the war – which side were you on?" her voice was calm and clear, they could have been at a cocktail party if it weren't for the fact that he was absolutely sure that if he gave the wrong answer she would kill him. He thought back to the last time a woman had pointed a gun at him…alone, on a beach, being hunted, picked off one by one. He'd underestimated Vera, he never thought she'd pull the trigger. As he lay in the surf, feeling his blood leave his body, he almost laughed at the absurdity of it all. When he dragged himself up onto the beach, knowing he was dying, he hadn't been scared, he knew what he was and he'd never lied about it. But Vera…oh Vera…there was a woman who lied as she breathed. He thought he'd heard another gunshot as his eyes had closed.

When he woke up in hospital, surrounded by detectives, police officers, he'd thought of her again as he made up a story about a house party that had got out of hand…they'd believed him or at least not pursued an inquiry. With a judge, a decorated war hero, a doctor and one of their own involved they'd wanted to keep it quiet. Then the war had come and no one had cared what had happened on a tiny island. He'd joined up and had almost immediately been seconded to Army Intelligence. He'd been sent back to Africa but this time he was slaughtering Nazis not natives. He'd hoped it might have wiped some of his past off the slate but he doubted it…killing Nazis or killing innocents, no God could forgive it if you enjoyed it.

After being demobbed, he thought he'd try his luck in America; no one in England had any money to pay him. He'd quickly fallen back into the mercenary life. America was rife with the type of men who needed his skills.

"Negotiating?" he commented and stared at her, she smiled and raised an eyebrow.

"I fought for the Allies, I was in Africa. Now I'm here. What about you? You seem…out of place." she met his dark stare with an equal darkness.

"Oh Mr Lombard, my story is long and complicated." she still had the gun trained on him but her expression had become nervous.

"I have time." he said and sat back in the chair, lighting a cigarette knowing his charm would work on her like it did with every other woman.

"I was someone's fiancée but I realised too late what he was and he hurt me, he hurt me terribly and now I'm looking for revenge." Philip leant forward and Kit saw a slight softening in his eyes, a sympathy, a weakness; she felt a spike of triumph at finding this crack.

"Or perhaps I was a good girl, from a good family, who fell on hard times and now I'm trying to scrape enough money together to restore them. Perhaps I was a nun who was raped by mercenaries just like you in the jungles of Patagonia and I lost the ability to hear God and now, here I am. Perhaps I was a wife and mother who lost her husband and child in the war and the grief was just too much." Philip sat back, his face acknowledging her as victorious in this first battle.

"Or perhaps, just like you Mr Lombard, I am in the right time and place. The Devil has set me free…just like you." she lowered the gun, this man was no danger to her.

"You, Miss Lockwood, are a very cruel woman." he said with no malice.

"And you, Mr Lombard, need to learn when to fold." and she lit a cigarette.

"Is it true that you cut off one of the little fella's balls?" he asked, relaxing now the moment had passed.

"Absolutely. He thought it was appropriate to hurt a friend of mine. I was trying to cut his heart out but had to settle for something smaller." Philip marvelled at her turn of phrase, as if she was giving a talk at some WI meeting, "the only hardship…apart from coming away without his heart…was having to touch his cock." Philip smiled and she saw his white teeth against the curve of his mouth; so dangerously beautiful.

"What do you know of Giametti?" he asked, setting his glass down.

"He's Lava's main rival and his operation is rather more than the two bits he'd have you believe. It is more like the full dollar. Any grubby pie you can think of in this city has Giametti's fingers in it and he is very well connected."

"Does he know you?" Philip lit another cigarette and Kit shook her head.

"I've managed to stay under his radar."

"Unlike Lava's?" he saw Kit sigh.

"I've crossed paths with Frank Lava once before…it didn't end well. I had only just arrived here and thought I knew everything; it turned out I knew very little and ended up paying quite a heavy price."

"But you're working for him now." he stated.

"Money is money Mr Lombard, as I'm sure you're aware."

"And you know more than you did before?" he stared at her through the smoke.

"Now, Mr Lombard, I know everything." and she gave her tiger smile again.


	2. Devil's Music

**I was in the middle of a GOT story when I watched ATTWN again and now I'm writing this...an embarrassment of riches it would seem. Thank you for reading this and please let me know what you think if you can, it's always appreciated.**

There was nothing more they could do that night; Kit needed to put some very subtle feelers out as to how they could gain access to Giametti. Philip agreed to return the next evening and he left.

"As God is my witness that's the handsomest man I've ever seen." exclaimed Miriam, emerging from the dark hallway.

"I didn't notice." Kit replied without looking at her.

"Liar." Miriam said hoping to raise a smile but Kit was too distracted.

"It's past eleven but Mike should still be up?" she asked but didn't wait for a reply and went down stairs with the rum bottle. Miriam put the envelope in the wall safe and tidied away the glasses. She had a bad feeling about this job but knew Kit didn't set much store by instinct; she also had a feeling about the Irishman but it wasn't bad so much as…portentous.

"Did you bring the rum?" Mike asked without looking at Kit. He was sterilising the tattoo equipment, which meant he was dipping them in bathtub gin and putting them back on the tray. Kit placed the bottle between them, sat in the tattoo chair and closed her eyes.

"I saw that snaky bastard Lava come through, you working for him again?" Mike uncorked the rum and drank from the bottle.

"I've no choice, I need the money." Mike handed her the bottle and she took a long drink then held it out to him with her eyes still closed.

"Who was the other one, the Irish one?" Mike asked.

"How did you know he was Irish, did he speak to you?" Kit sat up and looked at Mike who shook his head.

"I'd know a fellow countryman anywhere, we've a special look…the black dog of melancholy is always on one shoulder."

"Mike it's me, you can drop the act." Kit took another drink and Mike's face lost the hangdog look.

"Alright I was only joking, he's a fella who's making quite a name for hisself. There was a bit of trouble before the war, something about a load of murders on an island, he was the only survivor. Before that he was in Africa, diamonds and so forth; travelled in India doing his bit to maintain the British rule of the whole fecking world. A bloodthirsty bastard so I'm told. You want to be a bit handy round him." Mike licked the rolling paper and lit the pathetic cigarette. Kit had offered him hers time and again but he claimed his were better than any shop bought shite…she'd tried one once and nearly lost a lung.

"How do you know all of this?" she asked.

"A mate of mine worked the boat he came over on. There was a bit of gambling below deck and your man there got in on the action. Not much of a talker according to Sham but he could make an oyster to give up the pearl. What's your take on him?" and he watched as Kit lit a cigarette and rubbed her hand over her eyes.

"Could be better, could be worse. He'll cause me trouble but maybe not as much as someone else. He appears to dislike Lava, which goes in the pros column. He knows his business…clever…astute…as long as he doesn't get in my way, he should be fine."

"What's the job?"

"Information on Giametti's operations. But Lava's going to double cross me as soon as it's done." and Mike hissed through his teeth.

"Jesus Mary, Lava's to make a move on Giametti? It'll be an all out fucking war and you'll be right in the middle of it girl. You'll need to be boxing clever from the off. You looking for some divine retribution after last time?" but Kit ignored the question.

"Do you know anyone in Giametti's gang? All I need is one point of access, I can do the rest."

"My second cousin's wife's brother works in one of his clubs, leave it with me and I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you, is it the usual fee?" and Kit took another drink as he nodded. Mike remembered when he had first met her; he'd known she was something different and she'd proved him right except for her first dealing with Lava. He could still see the faint outline of the bloodstain on the wooden boards beneath his table.

Philip stared at the fan turning lazily above his bed. He tuned out the other noises, the shouts and screams of pleasure and pain, and replayed the evening. He was now surer than ever that Lava was planning to double cross him, he could smell it. His thoughts then drifted unbidden to Kit; women never held his interest for very long, they were all the same underneath. The only woman who had ever come close to scratching his soul had shot him, left him for dead and then hanged herself…Vera… Kit appeared to be immune to his charm, which was novel if inconvenient, she was obviously comfortable enough with violence…but…

Here, Philip lost his clarity, there was that something…a whisper that was hidden from him for now…His eyes began to close and he sunk into a sleep filled with disappearing green statues, a red bathing suit, screaming gulls and burning African bush stained with blood…out of which emerged a big cat with dark eyes.

Wiping the shaving soap from his chin, Philip stared at his reflection in the speckled mirror. Shrugging on a clean shirt, he left off the tie and opted for a sports jacket, this was a humid city. He made his way back to the tattoo parlour and pushed open the door.

"Flip the closed sign there pal." came a voice and Philip saw the tattooist wiping his hands on a filthy looking rag, "Kit will be down soon. You'll be wanting a drink." and he poured two measures of rum without waiting for a reply.

"May the Devil say a prayer for you." said Mike and swallowed his drink, Philip did the same. The older man stared hard at him.

"So tell me now what's a fine Irish boy like yourself doing in this Soddom and Gommorah?" Mike asked, his joviality undercut with tension.

"Earning money." Philip replied leaning forward.

"I shoulda known you were a Dublin man from your walk." and Mike spat on the floor.

"Why don't you cut the old country bullshit, I left a long time ago, so did you. If you've got something to say, just say it." Philip's voice was low and dangerous.

"If you do something to put Kit in harms way, I'll hunt you the length and breadth of this world and the next and then I'll make you wish you'd died at your mother's tit." Mike was suddenly not such a cheap caricature anymore. Philip felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise as the older man leant forward and his hand automatically went to his pocket where he kept his gun.

"I was running with the big boys before you were a stain down your mammy's leg and I've lived to tell the tale so don't even think about going for that revolver in your pocket. You've been a killer for a while I'm thinking? Well good for you son, come back to me when you've a tally that would make even the Devil blush."

"What's Kit Lockwood to you?" Philip forced himself to place his hands on the table.

"What Kit is to me is none of your feckin' business." the older man was suddenly defensive.

"Does she need you to protect her?" Philip asked, taking advantage of this change.

"Kit doesn't need protecting from anybody but herself. You ever hunt big game?" Mike watched the younger man nod slowly.

"Then you'll have seen how the big males will make all the noise and throw themselves about each other…posture if you like? But tell me this, hunter boy…who were the most dangerous? Who caused you the most difficulty?"

"The females." Philip replied quietly.

"The females." repeated Mike and gave Philip a look that suggested he had passed a test, "Kit is like one of your lionesses. If she likes you, she'll fight to the death to protect you but if you cross her she'll rip your chest open and feast on your insides while you die. But there are hunters out there with better traps, bigger guns and sometimes she forgets that…" Mike looked at the floor and Philip followed his gaze to a faint stain on the boards.

"Mr Lombard, you're on time." Kit walked through and sat down by Mike, she took a drink from his glass. Philip observed the easy familiarity with something close to jealousy.

"Miss Lockwood. Have you pointed a gun at anyone today?" he asked, staring at her intently but she remained unmoved.

"I haven't needed to…yet. Shall we get on?" and Philip nodded.

"Giametti owns several clubs around the city, some high class and some less salubrious. An invitation to his most prestigious club The Atomic Lounge has been procured; it will be a big event as Giametti is celebrating his 50th birthday. I take it you own a tuxedo?"

"Yes, I own a tuxedo." Philip replied sarcastically.

"Good, make sure it's clean and pressed. You and I will pose as rich newlyweds just arrived in Manhattan and looking to spend some money. If we can gain access to Giametti's inner circle we can get valuable intelligence that can be passed on to Lava, we can get the rest of our money and that will be that." Kit sat back and lit a cigarette.

"So you've got it all planned out?" Philip asked.

"Do you have a better idea?" Kit snapped.

"No." he answered, shifting uncomfortably and Mike gave a smile.

"I thought not. The party is tomorrow night so you and I need to become comfortable with each other."

"What?" Philip's eyes widened with shock.

'Oh calm yourself; I'm not suggesting anything indecent. If we are to pass as a married couple we need to become familiar."

"What are you suggesting Miss Lockwood?" his voice became lower, softer.

"We need to dance together." she said flatly.

"What?" Philip laughed with surprise.

"We need to dance together." she repeated.

They were back in the room upstairs; the lights were low and the curtains fluttered in a slight breeze. Philip had removed his jacket and was watching Kit set up the record player; he tipped the last of the rum into his glass and swallowed. He'd had a cursory introduction to a small, dark haired woman called Miriam who appeared to live with Kit and Mike had followed them up the stairs. Kit blew the dust off a record and turned to him.

"I suggest we break the ice with a basic quickstep. Miriam, the record if you please?" and the strains of 'It don't mean a thing…' filled the room.

It turned out they were both quite good dancers. After a few false starts where Kit forgot she wasn't leading they found their rhythm quickly. They moved fluidly over the floor looking for all the world like a couple in love. As the name suggested it was a fast dance and the night was hot and sticky; Kit's skin became rosy and flushed, Philip's carefully combed hair fell over his face, the natural curl coming back. As Duke Ellington and his orchestra finished with a flourish, they stopped, breathless and thirsty. Miriam was ready with whiskey and sodas for all and they drank them gratefully.

"What's next then Ginger?" Philip asked, brushing his hair from his forehead and Kit gave him a surprised smile.

"A foxtrot; take it away maestro." and Miriam carefully placed the needle on the record. The opening of bars of 'Cheek to Cheek' began. Philip guided Kit across the cracked linoleum floor above a tattoo parlour in the seedy Bowery area of a sick city because a gangster was paying them to get enough information so he could kill a rival. He pressed his cheek against hers and Kit felt the roughness of stubble that was already coming through even though she could smell the shaving soap. Kit's skin was soft and smooth, her hair was bursting from the comb and he caught the sent of lavender; he tightened his grip on her waist and she closed her eyes.

"I must have seen Top Hat a dozen times; my heart always fluttered when Fred span and then dipped Ginger." sighed Miriam, watching them with her chin on her hands. Mike snorted and rolled another of his cigarettes.

As the song reached its crescendo they slowed to a stop and Philip bent Kit backwards; her fingers gripped his shoulders and he could feel the heat through his shirt. He pulled her upright and Miriam burst into a spontaneous applause. Kit straightened her clothes and looked slightly embarrassed.

"Giametti's parties have a reputation for getting quite wild and rumour has it that he's managed to get Benny Goodman and his orchestra to play The Atomic Lounge for one night. How are your swing dance moves?" she glared at Philip who gave her a lazy smile.

"How're yours?" he shot back. Still pinning him with a hard stare she ordered Miriam to change the record. The hard drum intro for 'Sing, Sing, Sing' beat through the room and they began…and they were good. Philip swung Kit around, gripping her hands tightly; Kit moved her hips to the tempo and they used each other's weight to spin and turn. As the beat got faster, so did they; their dancing became almost like a fight, the floor shook with their stamping and their eyes never left each other.

"Devil's music." muttered Mike but Miriam shushed him.

The song finally ended and they were both exhausted. Philip leant over with his hands on his knees, breathing hard and Kit fanned herself with the newspaper.

"Miriam, any chance of another drink?" Kit gasped and moved to the open window, undoing some buttons on her blouse and letting the little breeze cool her skin. She turned back to face the room and leant against the sill. She lit another cigarette and ran a hand over the back of her neck with her eyes closed. Miriam was busy mixing the drinks and so missed the look Philip gave Kit but Mike didn't; the older man had known lust and passion and he'd also known love. Philip was not in love but a lustful passion had been ignited and Mike was quite sure Kit had no idea.

She sipped her drink and felt her heartbeat start to go back to normal. She looked over at Philip who was gulping his whiskey and soda. Miriam was right, he was a handsome devil but that made him all the more useful. A beautiful face, male or female, was an entry ticket to most places; he'd fit right in at Giametti's club.

"Miss Lockwood, would you care to slow dance?" Philip held his hand out and Kit accepted. Miriam put on 'Lover Man (Oh where can you be)' and Billie Holliday's voice slid through the room. Kit rested her face against his chest and allowed him to lead her. He held her hand lightly and the weight of her hand on his shoulder was delicious; his arm around her back kept her close to him and he could feel the curve of her breast against his palm. As the final bars faded he felt Kit pull away and he returned to the room; he looked up and saw Mike glaring at him.

"So what do you think? Do you reckon we could pass for a pair of newlyweds?" asked Kit, sliding the record back into its paper sleeve.

"Absolutely!" said Miriam emphatically.

"Good. It appears the plan can go ahead." she said to Philip, "I suggest you come here first and we can come up with the story of how we met. Shall we say 5 o'clock tomorrow evening?" and he nodded.

"Tomorrow I shall go to the library and see what I can dig up on Giametti from the newspapers." Kit tapped a cigarette out of the packet and the match illuminated her eyes momentarily.

"I'll take a look at the layout of the club." Philip said and Mike noted Kit didn't warn him to remain unnoticed, she appeared to trust the man and this worried him.

"Fore warned is fore armed." Kit said, Philip felt his stomach twist at the memories this threw up.

"Tomorrow evening then, I'll walk you out Mr Lombard." and Kit opened the door.

"Philip." he said quietly, watching her.

"Mr Lombard" she repeated and saw his expression darken but indicated for him to leave.

Mike began to roll another cigarette and Miriam sat down next to him.

"What do you think?" she asked, not quite hiding her worry.

"I think Kit needs to be careful around him. He's got a bit of the Old Adam in him."

"So has Kit." countered Miriam.

"That's what worries me…you don't mix fire and gasoline."


	3. Devil's Luck

**Apologies to anyone who has seen Gilda - I have stolen shamelessly. Thank you for reading and any feedback is always welcome.**

Tightening the belt on a light summer dress, Kit checked her reflection in the mirror and tucked a stray strand of hair into the clip. She pulled on her gloves and straightened her straw hat, looking the epitome of an efficient secretary.

"I'll be back at around 2 o'clock." she said to Miriam who was sitting on the edge of Kit's bed.

"Your dress will need pressing, I'll make sure it's perfect for tonight."

"You might want to check the hem for blood stains, the last time I wore it I may have had some trouble, I can't remember." Kit said, rifling through her red handbag.

"You could have told me before, blood is very difficult to get out of satin." moaned Miriam.

"It's black, nobody will notice if they don't look too hard. Right, I'm off to the library." and Kit slipped a flick knife into her garter and left.

Philip walked down East 53rd Street nodding to the wives, secretaries, telephone operators and shop girls who were enjoying the sun and looking in the windows of the boutiques that thrived just off 5th Avenue. He saw the gaudy façade of The Atomic Club on the opposite side of the street; it was impossible to miss even in the daylight. A huge neon mushroom cloud adorned the outside with the name running through it, a large red canopy had been placed over the door. Slipping on a pair of sunglasses, he walked a little further down and crossed the road to a small side street leading to the back of the club where the deliveries went. There was a set of double doors and a tunnel that led to a garage underneath the club. It appeared to be closed up but he could hear movement inside. He heard a vehicle turn down the street and moved into the shadows. A sleek Cadillac turned into the garage and he caught sight of an older man in the back with a much younger woman draped over him. Philip gave a smile and walked back up onto the street and crossed into a dark bookstore opposite the entrance.

"Can I help you sir?" came a voice from behind a shelf, Philip turned to see a young woman in a dark dress wearing glasses with her hair tied back in a neat bun. When she saw him, her hand immediately went to pat her hair and she wished she'd worn a fancier dress and perhaps some lipstick. Philip gave her his most charming smile.

"I have a confession…" and he raised his eyebrows in question.

"Oh…Mabel." she fluttered.

"Well I have a confession Mabel, I've come in here to watch the building opposite. I want to see who goes in and who comes out…or doesn't"

"Are you a policeman?" she breathed.

"No Mabel, I'm a private detective working for a rich client who's worried his wife is spending too much time away from home." and he smiled again.

"Just like Humphrey Bogart in The Big Sleep." Mabel was practically gasping.

"Just like Humphrey Bogart." Philip leant closer to the woman; "only better looking." Mabel giggled and took off her glasses.

Kit's heels clicked on the rust red tiles of the New York Public Library. She approached the desk and asked for the New York Times and Post from 1925 to 33 and 45 and 46, sat at one of the reading desks, removed her hat and gloves, set out her pad and pencil, put on her glasses and set to work sifting through the reports of Prohibition leggers, turf wars between the gangs and the million other little violences that happened in the city.

She looked up at the clock and realised she needed to get back. She packed away her notebook and walked out into the bright sunshine.

"Oh Miss? Hey Miss! Excuse me." called a male voice and she turned to see a handsome man, tall, tanned and blonde in a pinstripe suit.

"You know I don't usually call out to young women on the street but…gee…you're about the prettiest girl I've seen. Would you like to go out sometime?" He ran his hand through his hair and looked down at her with blue eyes.

"No I don't think so." Kit answered and began to walk away but he grabbed her upper arm.

"There's no need to be uptight, I'd just like to take you out, show you a good time." he squeezed her arm, "I'm in advertising you know, I could see about getting you a modelling contract." he wasn't letting go.

"Let go of my arm." Kit said calmly.

"Not until you say you'll go out with me. How about we skip the date and just go back to mine?" he was smiling but he wasn't letting go. He tried to pull her towards a cab but Kit had had enough, she grabbed his fingers round her arm and slowly bent them back; at the same time she moved in front of him, blocking others' view and gripped his balls, hard. He immediately tried to double over but that bent his fingers even further.

"When a woman says no, she means no. Your mother needed to teach you better manners. I'm going to let go but if you try anything else I will rip your bollocks off right here on the street. Nod if you understand." and he managed to move his head slightly. She released him and walked towards the subway without looking back.

Miriam looked up from the hem of the black dress as Kit opened the door and kicked off her shoes.

"Did you find anything useful?" she asked through a mouthful of pins.

"I did. Turns out Lava was usurped by Giametti during Prohibition. Lava used to be main supplier of whiskey but Giametti pushed him out and got very rich in the process. It looked like there was going to be an all out war until Prohibition was abolished. Giametti moved into more kosher work, producing car parts…became very rich once the war started and Lava became a racketeer but now they're both looking to corner the market in gambling and the import export business. At the moment Giametti has the edge."

"I remember Prohibition. Every man and his dog were making bootleg liquor in their bathtubs. My uncle Saul didn't have a bath for years, he used it to make the strongest whiskey you've ever tasted, they all used to wash in the kitchen sink." Miriam said, still bent over the dress, "When did you last wear this dress?" Kit shrugged.

"Are you sure it still fits?" Miriam asked bluntly, "you'd better try it on."

They discovered that Kit had filled out slightly since she'd last worn the dress so Miriam set to work letting out the seams around the bust whilst Kit had a bath and began to make herself presentable for the club.

Philip carefully zipped his tuxedo into the suit cover and closed the door behind him. He'd wiped Mabel's lipstick from his neck and shaved again. He felt no guilt about using Mabel, he'd got some useful information and he was keen to share it with Kit; he didn't admit it to himself but he wanted to show her he was as good as she was.

Mike watched him walk by the window and come through the door. Philip nodded to him and headed up the stairs. Strains of Sinatra filtered through and he walked into the sitting room. Kit was lying on the faded sofa wearing men's pyjamas, her hair tied up in a scarf and eating a cream cheese bagel, Miriam was sitting by the open window sewing furiously.

"Was your day productive?" she asked without getting up.

"Yes." he replied and looked for somewhere to hang his suit, finally hooking it over a slightly open door. He sat at the table and lit a cigarette and waited for Kit to ask, it was about time she learnt who was the boss in this partnership.

"Good." she said, "Lava's planning to take over all the gambling rackets in the city and the only one standing in his way is Giametti. Their rivalry goes back years. He's going to break Giametti's business and then take it out from under him. This has been brewing for a long time. They're related by marriage, Giametti married Lava's sister, organised by their fathers but it looks like the truce is about to be broken." Philip stared at her, on the back foot already and aware that his information wasn't half as pertinent as Kit's.

"I watched the club today. Giametti runs a gambling den in the back, the clientele list has everyone from film stars to the mayor on it and he's not hiding. It's not going to be easy to get near him." he sat back in frustration.

"Have a little faith." Kit said lightly, "we need to work out our story. I've got some ideas…"

"I bet you have." he said acidly and Kit shot him a dark look.

"Oh I apologise Mr Lombard. Please…enlighten me." the disdainful tone grated on him.

"Well Miss Lockwood, we met when you were working as a chorus girl in a seedy London club during the war. I married you out of pity and you were so very grateful."

"It doesn't really fit with the idea we're rich and looking to spend money in Manhattan's night spots…you don't exactly exude good breeding or wealth." Kit shot back.

"Well what do you suggest?" he stood up and opened his arms wide, Kit stood toe to toe with him and looked up at him.

"We eloped as my very rich father didn't approve of my association with an Irishman but he died before he could change his will. Now we're looking to spend his money. We've been together 3 months and we are so deeply in love." She slowly blinked at him, refusing to be intimidated by his hard look. There was a beat of silence where Philip fought the urge to wring her neck but then he smiled.

"So you just couldn't resist my charms?" and smiled lazily at her but Kit narrowed her eyes at him.

"Apparently not. I'm going to finish getting ready." She threw his suit at him and closed the door with a deliberate click.

"And what about you Miss Miriam? Do we seem like a couple in love?" he asked, staring hard at the small woman.

"Try not to poke the bear too much Mr Lombard." she said placidly and added, "you can change in my room, up the steps and to the right; the bathroom is on the left." and went back to her sewing.

As the clock struck 9 o'clock, Kit fluffed out her hair a little more and applied a last coat of mascara. Miriam closed the final hook and stood back to admire her handy work, shaking her head.

"You look like a film star." she whispered and Kit twisted in the mirror and hoiked the dress up but it made no difference. Even with the seams let out, the strapless bustier was verging on indecent and cut low at the back. The black satin skirt was slit to her thigh and the bow sitting on her left hip accentuated the cinched waist. She bent over to straighten her stocking seam and Miriam choked.

"You need to stay upright." she observed.

"I'll do my best." Kit replied drily and opened the door of her bedroom. Philip turned in the act of lighting a cigarette but stopped when he saw her.

"Close your mouth darling." she said, reaching across him to get her bag.

"That's a fine dress." he said, finally lighting his cigarette.

"There's nothing a woman loves more than a spontaneous compliment." she said.

"It leaves so little to the imagination." he waited for her outrage.

"It doesn't bother me…does it bother you?" she enquired and his jaw tightened.

"We appear to have got off to a bad start but it would have been remiss of me not to commend you on your choice of dress." he drawled.

"Mr Lombard you seem to be under the impression that I am somehow trying to impress you. Allow me to correct you on that point. We have a job to do, a job that is very well paid. I am playing a particular part, as are you…" his eyes followed her, "this is nothing more than a pay day for both of us."

"But you do play the part very well…too well." he needled. He needed to get a reaction from her, reinforce his position.

"You'd better hope I do or we're both dead."

"My instincts are telling me that it's not all a pretence." his voice was so low it was almost a whisper and, for the first time, he caught a hint of uncertainty from her.

The cab pulled up outside the club that was already busy. Philip held out his arm and Kit took it. The doorman greeted them and they went inside.

The club was lit up like a Christmas tree and the beautiful and bad of New York packed out the place. They made their way to the golden bar and Philip ordered a champagne cocktail for Kit and a whiskey sour for himself. He paid for the drinks and took their table. People watched as they moved through the crowd, women preened as Philip passed them and the men stared at Kit with hunger.

Philip undid his jacket and put his arm round Kit's shoulder and pulled her close to him, she leant against him watching the dance floor.

"Giametti's at the table to your right. He was watching you as we walked by."

"We need to dance, get him to notice us properly." and Philip nodded. He stood up and led her onto the floor. 'Put the Blame on Mame…' began to play and they moved across the dance floor. The other couples quickly stopped to watch them. Kit snaked her hips and flicked her hair, emulating Rita Hayworth whom she had more than a passing resemblance to that night. When the song finished, applause echoed around the club. Kit gave a beaming smile and encouraged her handsome husband to take a reluctant bow and they returned to their seats. A waiter appeared at the table.

"Mr Giametti requests you join him at his table. This way please." and he lead them to the central table where Giametti was holding court, surrounded by sycophants, wise guys and women. He was a small but stocky man with heavy brows, rubbery lips, and mean eyes. He had a fat cigar in one hand that he used to emphasise his gestures, the ash dropping down his white tuxedo jacket. The waiter murmured in his ear and he looked up.

"Mr Giametti, it's an honour to meet you, Philip Dolan and this is my wife Katharine." said Philip and extended his hand, Giametti gripped it but his eyes were on Kit.

"When I saw you I thought Rita had made it from Hollywood to help me celebrate my birthday." he said kissing Kit's hand and indicating that two hangers-on needed to move so the beautiful couple could sit down.

"You, Mr Giametti, are a very charming man." Kit purred and Giametti looked around delighted.

"Hey this dame's got class, she's British, they're always classy." and the crowd loudly agreed, "How come I ain't seen you about before?"

"We only arrived a week ago, we're on honeymoon." and Kit draped herself over Philip but kept her hand on Giametti's arm.

"So you come to my city? You made a good choice." Giametti waved a hand and a waiter brought over a bucket of champagne and more glasses.

"What business are ya in Dolan?" Giametti looked at Philip with beady eyes.

"Oh a little bit of this and a little bit of that. I'm thinking of trying my luck on the stock market."

"The luck of the Irish eh?" Giametti laughed at his own joke and everyone else joined in.

"Well my luck won me this beautiful wife so I think I'm ahead of the game." Philip answered and Giametti clinked his glass in agreement and then downed the whole thing, smacking his wet lips, it was immediately refilled.

"You're a lucky son of a bitch. You know I think you're even better lookin' than Rita." he leant nearer to Kit.

"You keep drinking Mr. Giametti, I only get better looking." and he guffawed loudly.

"Are you a gambling man?" Giametti shot the question like a bullet.

"I've been known to dabble." Philip answered.

"I've got a little game going in the back, what's your poison? Craps? Roulette? Poker?"

"Poker."

"I knew it would be." Giametti gesticulated with his cigar to the surrounding crowd, "I knew he'd be a poker man. The stakes are high, can you cover it Dolan?" and Philip nodded.

"We've recently come into some money and Philip is an excellent player." Kit looked adoringly at her husband but quickly turned back to the older man.

"Classy and rich, where have you been all my life?" Giametti joked and Kit laughed, tilting her head towards him.

"I'm here now." she whispered and he peacocked even more.

"Can you amuse yourself for a while angel, whilst your husband and me go play some poker?" he asked.

"I'll find something to pass the time until you get back." she said, "but don't be too long, I think I'd like to dance with you Mr Giametti."

"Well Katharine, it is my birthday after all." and he got up, parting the crowds as he went. Philip hung back and leant close to Kit.

"Will you be all right?" he asked but Kit didn't answer.

"I'll see what I can find, you keep him busy for as long as you can. Play well but let him win, we need to keep him on side." and she pulled away from him, sashaying into the crowd where she was soon mobbed by offers from prospective dance partners. Philip's jaw tightened but he followed Giametti.


End file.
